


The Master Chef

by Traxits



Category: Star Ocean: The Second Story | Second Evolution
Genre: Community: areyougame, M/M, One Shot, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traxits/pseuds/Traxits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashton sneaks into the Cooking Stadium to cook his dinner, and manages to thoroughly embarrass himself in front of the one party member with no sense of humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Master Chef

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Are You Game?](http://areyougame.dreamwidth.org/) Community on [Dreamwidth](http://www.dreamwidth.org/). I had so much fun writing this, I mean... I had a ridiculous grin on my face the whole time. Thank you so much, anon, for such a fun prompt! Also, I am aware that Ashton can be a good cook. In fact, in most of my games, I tend to use him for all of my Cooking Stadium attempts. It was just that for the sake of this particular story, he's only mediocre.

"The great, the _magnificent_, Chef Ashton Anchors!" Ashton grinned to himself as he threw out his arms to the empty chairs in the stadium, his eyes surveying them appreciatively, imagining them full of Nedians, all cheering and excited to watch. A little thrill raced down his back, and Gyoro made a low chuffing noise, even as Ururun waved about, just as into it as Ashton was.

This was the first break they'd gotten since they'd arrived, the first chance to really enjoy Energy Nede as a place of its own. With the cooking stadium empty- there wasn't a competition that day- Ashton had eagerly leaped at the chance to cook his dinner there. It had taken a little coaxing, but the woman guarding the door had finally relented when he started to beg. Pride be damned, he wanted to cook in there, and there was no way he'd ever be good enough to actually compete for the Master Chef title. At the very least, he could fantasize about it though.

"Well, let's start, shall we? First, we'll have to choose our meat. I'll be using beef today..." Slowly, his voice built from the low whisper to his normal speaking tone, and he cast a few glances over toward the door, making certain it stayed closed. His luck was holding, it would seem, for once.

He flipped one of the pans with a flourish, energy seeming to flow through him as he moved, some bizarre alignment of the planets allowing him to actually _not_ drop anything. Fire on, skillet on the flames, and Ashton drizzled oil into it, humming softly. He cut up the meat easily- after years of sword fighting, every blade felt like an extension of his arm- and slid it into the pan, bowing to his imaginary crowd afterward. They were cheering him on, and he was grinning like a fool. Even he was aware that his grin was completely over the top, but then again, wasn't the whole situation?

"Now, we take our vegetables... this time, I'm going with broccoli and cabbage, but really, you could use anything you like. Oh, this carrot is _lovely_! That will give it a splash of color."

He chose his vegetables cheerfully, holding them up for the crowd's inspection, and they ooh'ed and ahh'ed at his _perfect_ choices. Giggling just a little to himself, he set them on the cutting board, stirred the meat a little, and then attacked them with the knife, slicing and cutting and flourishing as though his life depended on it. He blushed just a little, but knowing that he was completely alone in the stadium made it okay. By the time he was done, he started on the sauce, pouring the mix he'd bought back in Central City into the water and mixing it with the thickening agent Chisato had told him about.

"And now we mix the sauce-"

"You're burning it."

Ashton felt the air leave his lungs, and he just about dropped the bowl at the sound of _that_ voice behind him; somehow, Ururun caught it and slowly set it on the counter. Ashton turned, beet red, to look at Dias. He was stirring the meat, looking into the pan expectantly. He turned the fire down just a little. Ashton realized that whatever lucky streak he'd managed had clearly just run out.

Dias leaned against the counter as he lifted his gaze and studied Ashton. Somehow, Ashton was certain that he was managing to blush even more darkly the longer he was looked at. He fidgeted, then brought the bowl over to the pan that Dias stood by. He dumped the vegetables in, no-nonsense and straightforward, while Dias inspected the sauce in the bowl.

"W-what are you doing in here, Dias?" His voice was relatively steady, and he breathed a slow sigh of relief at the fact. The last thing he needed was his voice cracking with Dias looking at him like _that_. What was that look anyway? "Shouldn't you be in-" he swallowed when Dias's eyes flicked back up to him, "in the battle arena?"

Dias arched one eyebrow, reaching to unbuckle the sword belt he was wearing. "I was," he finally said, and Ashton nodded slightly. Even though Dias _looked_ at ease, leaning one hip against the counter, one hand pouring the sauce in over the food, he was still clutching the sword in his other, his knuckles white. Ashton knew that grip; he'd seen it countless times. The men all changed, but their desperation, their _fear_ clung to them in the same manner. Dias simply embraced his more than most.

"I see. How did you do?" It was a polite question, one that Ashton already knew the answer to. At Dias's expression, Ashton grinned. "Well, did you mop the floor with their best again?"

Dias stirred the food in the pan again, and for a moment, Ashton wasn't certain he would answer. Then, "They don't let me fight people anymore."

Ashton coughed to cover his laugh, and he knew from Dias's flashing eyes that he hadn't _quite_ managed it. Nonetheless, he didn't move away, and when Ashton dug out plates, Dias took one and served the stir fry to both of them, smacking Gyoro and Ururun each on the nose with the spoon when they attempted to steal a bite. Both of them, sulking, curled up against the small of Ashton's back, snapping momentarily as they figured out who was going where. When they settled down, Ashton hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the counter. Dias didn't move any further, just pushed a few things around on his plate with a fork.

Ashton didn't waste time. He knew that he couldn't possibly have the arena for too much longer, and he still had to clean up. Eagerly, he dug into the plate, surprised at how good the sauce from Centropolis was. He'd have to pick up a few more packs before-

He cut himself short there. There would be no need to stock up. They weren't going back to Expel, after all. He scowled a little before he glanced back at Dias. "What do you think?"

Dias chewed for a few moments, making Ashton squirm before he nodded slowly. "Not bad," he muttered, and Ashton winced at how _much_ that made his stomach flip. It wasn't even a compliment, and somehow, it managed to make him almost giddy. This crush was seriously too much.

"Good, good," he replied, nibbling on a piece of broccoli. He **would** manage to fall for _Dias_, who was as handsome as he was unattainable. The man had so much baggage that it wasn't even funny. Ashton studied his plate, but he couldn't stop himself from sneaking glances at his companion. His eyes kept finding the most intriguing line of Dias's jaw to follow. "So," he needed to keep talking. There was no way out of that; if he didn't keep talking, he was going to do something _incredibly_ foolish. "What are you doing in here? You never did answer that."

Dias waited until he'd finished off about half of his plate before he answered, and even then, it was hardly a proper answer at all. "Eating?" He shot Ashton a look. "It's a cooking arena."

"Interested in other means of battle?" Ashton smiled as blandly as he could, setting his plate on the counter behind him where Gyoro and Ururun could finish it off. "I mean, with things other than your sword?"

"Hmph."

Ashton wasn't entirely sure if that was an amused grunt or an annoyed one. It wasn't coupled with the standard Dias growl, so he decided that he could press his luck (hah!) and see where it led. "Are you going to sign up for the Master Chef title?" He was a little overly cheerful as he asked, glancing down to rearrange utensils on the counter. "I mean, you cook, don't you? Besides trail rations and jerky. Rena said-"

Dias's hand shot out and caught Ashton by the jaw. Much to Ashton's horror, he found himself melting into the touch, even when it was too firm, too rough. He licked his bottom lip, mentally warning Gyoro and Ururun to keep _down_. The last thing he wanted was to present himself as a threat. Both dragons stopped moving half-way up his back, snarling and letting out low hisses in warning. Ashton drew a deep breath, forcing himself to look at Dias carefully.

"Shouldn't talk about Rena?" he asked lowly, and Dias studied him closely for several heartbeats. Ashton couldn't help licking his bottom lip again, praying silently that he was right, that Dias would snort and let him go, or maybe give him a short lecture on gossip before storming out. Shockingly, Dias did neither, instead choosing to pull Ashton down closer to him.

"No," he muttered lowly, voice rough with something. Some emotion that Ashton wasn't certain he recognized.

"Right, then. What do you want to talk about?" He tried to slow his heart rate, tried to smooth out his breathing. He had to admit, he was only half-effective, since a certain part of him was suddenly _overly_ excited at being this close to Dias. And when Dias tugged him down just a little more, that hand moving from his chin to wrap loosely around his throat, he _couldn't_ slow his pulse. It jumped wildly against Dias's fingertips, and he shifted on the counter, trying desperately to not be so painfully obvious with what it was doing to him.

The calloused pads of those fingers slid against his neck, and then Dias had touched his lips to Ashton's, and so help him, the kiss was just as rough and possessive as Ashton had always imagined it would be. Dias didn't tease, didn't play games. Instead, Ashton quickly found himself moaning softly under the other man; Dias swallowed his noises as soon as they escaped. That hand slid around to the back of Ashton's neck, and then Ashton felt the other one- the sword was propped up against Ashton's leg- pushing up the side of his thigh.

Then, slowly, reluctantly, Dias drew back, biting Ashton's bottom lip as he did. For a moment, he just looked at Ashton, and Ashton did his best to focus his eyes and look back, to try to memorize that slight flush, the soft pink color tinting Dias's lips. He wasn't sure how soon again he'd be able to see it, and he wanted to be able to remember.

His luck was _never_ this good.


End file.
